Runaway Mistress (20 page)

Later, after Cherie was gone, attaining a certain amount of personal wealth had become important to Jennifer—as important as security. After just a little while of being a successful mistress she’d amassed a comfortable nest egg. She now imagined the mail piling up in her Fort Lauderdale condo—bank statements, portfolio updates, checks—stuff she couldn’t touch without giving away her current location. Money she’d be willing to walk away from if it meant risking life and limb.

Nick had a key to that condo, of course. She supposed if he was criminal enough to kill his wife, he was certainly not above opening her mail.

In the past few weeks, Jennifer had given a lot of thought to what security really was, and it seemed to have little to do with money or material wealth. It was more about having people in your life you could trust and depend upon. It was about connectedness, comfort, safety.

She could start from scratch if she had to. Jennifer was nothing if not resilient. And now that she had a better idea of what she needed in her life to be happy, truly happy, she felt it was all within reach. All she had to do was finish with that business in Florida so she could put it all behind her.

She thought about Hedda, whose life was completely different from her own yet so much the same, and she hoped beyond hope that the girl wouldn’t have to manage in similar ways as an adult. For all of Hedda’s hard work and optimism, she should at least get a crack at an education, a career.

As she unloaded her flat of flowers—twelve dollars’ worth—Jennifer thought about what she used to spend on waxing, facials, hair, nails and spray tanning alone, not to mention makeup and clothes, and it blew her away. This life was indeed the simple life, and it was this kind of simplicity that allowed her to thoroughly enjoy a flat of flowers. She didn’t even realize how much she had missed that. She’d been longing for it without even knowing. She had become exhausted by the work involved in sheer upkeep.

This was a spring like nothing in her memory! Fort Lauderdale could hint at spring, but the ocean didn’t burst into bloom, and the palm trees did little more than grow dates and dump them, sticky and messy, all over roads and sidewalks.

Boulder City was an oasis in the desert, alive with deep shades of green and blossoms everywhere. The birds had grown loud with their lust and joy, and the sun was now greeting her soon after her rising time of four-thirty. She could remember a spring or two in Ohio when she and Cherie had been at Gram and Gramps’s—bright, glowing springs that filled you up inside and made you want to burst into a run or a song. But with Cherie’s instability always hanging close over their heads, even the joy of spring was subdued. There had been nothing like this.

Jennifer found some old gardening gloves and tools in the garage. Clearly they hadn’t been used in many a year, perhaps decades. The gloves practically disintegrated on touch. Jennifer didn’t need them, really. She wasn’t trying to protect her manicure; she kept her nails short and scrubbed clean. It felt good to dig them into the soft earth.

She planted daisies and pansies along the front of the house. In the backyard she cleared a spot in the corner that would get morning sun and afternoon shade. She rode her bike back to the nursery and loaded up the basket with mulch and potting soil and pedaled back. The weight of the load made riding hard work; she thought of her health club membership with an amused laugh. Hah! She should have discovered biking, gardening and waiting tables years ago!

She created a safe little harbor in the backyard for her tomato plants. Among them she scattered some marigold seeds to keep the bugs away.

Alice sauntered outside through the opened door and flopped down beside Jennifer. “What do you think?” she asked the dog.

“I think it looks good, for a beginner.”

She looked to her right and saw Alex peering over the wall that divided their backyards. He had his forearms on the top of the wall, his chin resting on them. He would have to be standing on a box or something—the wall was easily six feet high.

“Who are you calling a beginner?”

“Well. You. But that’s okay. You need any tips, you know where I am.”

“Yeah—hanging over the wall, spying. What if I’d been a topless gardener?”

His face cracked a roguish grin. “Be still my heart,” he said. “Adolfo asked me to come and get you. Change into something festive. You’re going out with Rose and me.”

“Festive? Me?” She stood up and brushed her hands together to get rid of the dirt. “The most festive thing I have is a pair of jeans. What’s going on?”

“You don’t know what day it is, do you? Haven’t you noticed decorations around town?”

There had been some lanterns strung up around the park; a few plastic flower arrangements here and there. She shrugged.

“What did you think it was?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Spring?”

“Spring is almost over. It’s Cinco de Mayo. The day the Mexicans ran the French and Spanish out of Puebla. Adolfo’s having one of his parties.”

“Oh,” she said. “Gee. Look, I have to get up pretty early and—”

“Don’t even start, Doris. If you don’t go, you’ll be in serious trouble. Go get ready.”

“Hey, Alex, it’s not like he invited me or anything. I didn’t have a chance to RSVP. I can’t just—”

“He wouldn’t have thought of it,” Alex said. “It’s Adolfo and his family and friends. He knows we all know there’s going to be a celebration—it’s not a formal thing. Music, food, drink, dancing. Trust me, you don’t want to miss this.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Look. We sort of talked about this before, without really talking about it, but I—”

“I know. You’re in deep cover. But this is different, Doris. It’s not public. It’s Adolfo’s friends and family—mostly Mexicans from around Boulder City and Henderson. Absolutely no chance anyone you’re avoiding would be there. A million to one chance, anyway. And I’ll protect you.” He smiled. “So, let’s go.”

“But I don’t have party clothes,” she said in frustration.

Alex sighed. “Okay. Alex to the rescue.” And he disappeared.

Jennifer looked at Alice. “How do you put up with him? He’s so annoying.”

Alice had no advice.

Jennifer picked up the empty plastic flats the plants came in, the empty bags from the mulch and potting soil, threw away her trash and went inside to wash her hands. Cinco de Mayo? Who’d have guessed.

There were a quick few taps at the door and it opened to reveal Rose. Or was that Carmen Miranda? She had a multicolored, layered skirt, peasant blouse pulled down off her shoulders, and on her head was a very elaborate fruit bowl. Over one arm she had draped clothes, and in her hand dangled at least three pairs of sandals. “Take these into the bedroom and see if anything will work. Go, go, go. And put on some lipstick or something. This is a
party.
”

“But…”

“Oh, don’t be difficult. We’re going. We always go to Adolfo’s on Cinco de Mayo. Believe me, you’ll be glad in the end.”

Jennifer showed her hands. “I need a shower.”

“That shouldn’t take long. It’s not as though you have to curl your hair. But please, a little mascara?”

Reluctantly, Jennifer accepted the clothing and went off to her shower. She grumbled as she ran the water and disrobed. She’d clean up, act agreeable, but then she’d have to come up with an excuse of some kind. A sudden bout of flu? Food poisoning? Heat prostration from the gardening? She wasn’t in a partying mood. It had taken a while to get used to the crowds that came into the diner for breakfast on weekends; she had barely become comfortable with the idea that so many people around town seemed to know her already. A party was out of the question.

But she shaved her legs with cream rinse. It was a little trick she’d learned from a stripper years ago—it left your legs so much softer and nicer than with shaving cream or soap. And after she dried off, she lotioned up—the desert, in any season, was hard on the skin. Then, just to appear cooperative, she looked at the clothes.

Hmm. A skirt and blouse, a strappy sundress, a pair of dressy capris and a peasant blouse. These were obviously Rose’s, but they sure weren’t the kind of clothes you’d expect a seventy-year-old woman to be wearing. She donned the sundress. Something snagged at her heart—it was lovely. Sexy and feminine. The straps crossed in the back, which was low. She couldn’t wear a bra, but with her girls right up there on her chest, it worked great without one. Peeking out from the front was an old friend she hadn’t let out in a while, her cleavage.

She leaned toward the mirror. With the sun on her cheeks and shoulders, she looked pretty good. She put on some eyeliner and mascara—no shadow or foundation, but a little darkening on the lids and lashes. She lined her lips with a pale peach liner—something quite old from under Louise’s bathroom sink, and then added some of the lip gloss from the little Kate Spade bag she kept hidden in the backpack.

Look at that, she thought. Not bad. She didn’t look anything like the blond bombshell Jennifer Chaise, but she didn’t exactly hurt the eyes. In fact, she looked years younger than Jennifer Chaise. She had grown to like the freckles and the ordinary-size lips. What had made her think she needed those bee-stung lips, anyway?

She tried on the sandals. They were about a size smaller than her own, but when she tried a pair of backless mules with a small heel, they worked.

When she went into her living room she found Rose sitting on the chair and Alex standing, a hand braced on the fireplace mantel. She stood before them, all thoughts of bailing on this outing gone from her mind.

Rose smiled a crooked conspirator’s smile, as if to say, I
knew
it! “Look at you,” she finally said. “At last, a real girl!”

But Alex was speechless. He stared, his lips parted in an
O.
He closed his mouth, shook his head and held out a hand. “You’ll thank me for this someday, Doris. You won’t find a better party than the one at Adolfo’s.”

She put her hand in his and with the other, gave Alice a pat. “I won’t be late,” she said to the dog.

“She’ll be late,” Alex corrected. “I’ve already watered the dog and locked the back door, so let’s do it.”

Alex drove them out of the historic district to a neighborhood where the houses were bigger than the tiny boxes that had been originally built by the government, but like in the historic district, individual taste was an option. They passed a big to-do in the park and Jennifer learned that there were celebrations all over town, but the one at Adolfo’s house would be the most authentic and intimate.
Intimate
turned out to be a relative term; as they drove down Adolfo’s street they found it lined with trucks and cars, the sound of music and laughter ringing out from blocks away.

She would have known Adolfo’s house without being told. There were two huge trees in the front yard and they were decorated with something akin to Christmas lights, lanterns strung across the eaves and carport, luminaires lining the drive and sidewalk. The sun was just barely lowering in the sky, and Alex had to toot the horn at a bunch of young men kicking a soccer ball around the street in front of his car.

“Intimate?” Jennifer heard herself ask.

“Everyone here has known Adolfo and his family for a long time. Carmel and Adolfo have many wonderful celebrations here—the Day of the Dead is something you don’t want to miss.”

“Day of the—”

“All Saints Day,” Alex clarified. “And Christmas for this family goes on for literally months. They’re very religious. Very respectful of the saints and their days. And—”

“And very good partiers,” Rose interrupted. “I knew parking would be a problem.”

Alex dropped the women in front of Adolfo’s house and drove off to find parking. Rose was off like a shot down the driveway with a large platter of sweets for the party, and Jennifer was left to slowly follow. Rose darted around the corner and into the house while Jennifer just got to the edge of the backyard and stood self-consciously by herself, taking it all in—there were people everywhere. A huge crowd. Young men stood around a keg of beer while others tended a barbecue; old women sat in lawn chairs under a big tree; children ran about; women of all ages totted food and drink to several large picnic tables that were lined up end to end across the yard. There was a gazebo at the far end of the driveway and under the roof was a small band—guitarists and mariachis. A couple in brightly colored clothes danced in front of them, and when the music ended the man lifted his partner high in the air and everyone applauded.

“Doris!” Adolfo cried. “Carmelita!” he called to his wife. A very beautiful, very full and round Latina woman came up behind him. She wore a colorful apron and held a dish towel in her hands.

Adolfo grabbed Jennifer and gave her a welcoming hug, muttering something very approving in Spanish as he looked at her in the dress and pronounced her
muy bueno.
Then he introduced her to Carmel who, likewise, had very positive things to say in Spanish—Jennifer nodded, wishing she had some idea what they were. Then followed a long line of people whom Adolfo presented. Maria, Andreas, Stefano, Juan, Eduardo, Lydia, Jesus, Jose, Madeira, Theresa, and on and on he went until Jennifer was long past remembering anyone but Carmel. To further confuse things, his introductions were half in English and half in Spanish.

She saw that in addition to the keg and a cooler filled with soft drinks, there seemed to be a bar set up near the house where electricity for the blender was available. A large bowl of limes sat atop the bar, and leaning against it was, surprisingly, Buzz, and beside him, Gloria. He nodded toward Jennifer and lifted a glass.

“Adolfo, who’s minding the diner?”

“It’s closed. Señor Buzz put up a sign.
Ido de pesca.
Gone fishing.” He grinned. “Buzz would not miss a celebration at the Garcia homestead.”

Still more people lined up behind Adolfo, and one by one he introduced them. His brother, his nephew, his neighbor, his old friend, his wife’s sister, a friend from their country, which she learned did not mean Mexico but rather a region of Mexico. Another neighbor, a son-in-law, and a wee tot whom he lifted into his sturdy arms as he said, “Juanito, the newest bambino. My grandson.”